


Get You Underneath Me

by voxangelus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adlock, F/M, Feelings, Karachi, Porn With Plot, this fandom seems like it needs a warning for het
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 08:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1934562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxangelus/pseuds/voxangelus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years after Karachi, Irene Adler returns to Sherlock's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get You Underneath Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 24 hours. It's not beta'd yet. If you notice any glaring errors, please do KINDLY point them out. 
> 
> Written for the fourth round of come-at-once on LJ for luvsev's prompt of "closer".

“Follow her, idiot. Jesus. If I have to watch you two eye-fuck in front of me any longer, I’ll probably spontaneously combust.” 

“While not impossible, that is statistically unlikely,” Sherlock said, turning a scowl on John. “And how in the world does one fuck with their eyes? Ridiculous.” 

The good doctor snorted with laughter, gathering up his coat. “Still not taking the risk. I’m going home to my wife. Lovely things, wives. Might catch yourself one if you go now. I stocked your side table, by the way.” he chuckled, nodding his head toward the back bedroom.

“Must you be so _bourgeois_?” 

“It’s part of my charm,” John called, as he made his way down the stairs. 

Lovely wasn’t quite the word Sherlock was sure he’d use for Mary. Clever, certainly. Cunning. And she was good for John. Still, she wasn’t _his_ wife and so his opinion of her loveliness was neither here nor there. He wasn’t even going to devote any brainpower to why John had taken it upon himself to stock his bedroom nightstand with prophylactics. 

No, his concern lay solely with the woman in his bedroom, who had shown up on his doorstep three days ago with a case and a plea for his assistance. He hadn’t seen her since they had parted in Karachi almost four years past, but time had done nothing to ameliorate the magnetic pull she affected on him. Nor him on her, if John was to be believed. It wasn’t so easy to just keep her tucked into a corner of his mind palace when she was so close.

They had slept together before they both had departed the safe house near Karachi, as much out of a need for comfort than anything else. He had hoped it would assuage his curiosity, dull his desire. The sex itself had been good - better than good - but It was her intellect that had kept him interested. The night spent talking as they rested between sessions had become of his dearest and closest-kept memories.

With Irene and John’s help, he’d closed the case earlier that evening. Honestly, she could have solved the mystery herself and avoided the transatlantic flight. He’d said as much to her earlier, but she had just winked at John and smirked at Sherlock while stealing one of his samosas. Then, she’d said she was going to bed, and trailed her fingertips across his shoulders as she went past - prompting John’s comment. Perhaps he was an ‘idiot’ for not rushing in after her, because he certainly wanted to - and observing her in turn had made it glaringly obvious she wanted the same. 

No, not an idiot. Cautious. Irene was fire. From here, he was warm. Closer, everything would burn - and there’d be no turning back the blaze they would create.

But oh, how he wanted the heat of the conflagration. 

He rose from where he’d been perched on the bit of the coffee table that wasn’t strewn with the remains of the takeaway and took a deep breath before walking back to the bedroom. The door was left open a bit, but he knocked just the same. “Irene?” 

“Come in, Sherlock,” she called. He pushed the door open. Irene was curled up in the bed, a book in her hand. She set it down on the side table as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “John’s gone home, then?” 

“Yes, so he doesn’t spontaneously combust,” he answered lightly. 

Irene laughed, tilting her head to the side to regard him with amusement. “Should I be worried about bursting into flames?”

Sherlock shook his head. All thoughts of humour gone, he left his hand on the doorknob, using it as a safety blanket. “You already are. I mean, you’re flame. Fire.” 

“Funny, I was just thinking the same about you,” she murmured, standing. “That If I came any closer, everything will burn.” Irene crossed to him as she spoke, ending up almost close enough to touch him. 

Yes, everything would burn, including the remainder of the walls around his heart. John’s irrepressible friendship had already done a good deal of the demolition there. It was time to finish the project. He released the doorknob, holding that hand out to Irene instead. “I’m willing to risk it with you,” he offered. 

“Oh God, yes,” she breathed, all but leaping into his arms and pressing her lips to his in a flurry of kisses, arms twined around his neck. “You daft genius, you only had to say so. Do you have any idea of the number of times I stopped myself from getting a flight, coming to you, and never looking back? When this little issue with my finances arose, I knew you were just the man to see. Do you remember our night in Karachi? The hours we spent making love and talking of everything under the sun?” 

“Yes. Yes, I remember. Thinking of those few hours of peace were a welcome refuge when I was away, dismantling Moriarty’s network,” Sherlock confessed, holding her tightly against him. “I didn’t realize that had been so significant for you, as well.” 

Irene nodded. “I’m yours, if you’ll have me.” 

“I’ll have you as often as you like, for as long as you want me.”

She laughed, tugging him toward the bed. “Details later, darling. I’ve spent the last three days thinking of getting underneath you, and the last four years regretting walking away from you. The case is solved, Mr Holmes - I want your undivided attention. Now.” Irene reached for the hem of her nightgown, tugging it up and over her head to reveal she wore nothing underneath. She was just as beautiful as he had remembered, perhaps more so, and her confidence only served to fan the flame of his want. 

Sherlock let his dressing gown drop to the floor and started in on his shirt buttons, only to have Irene bat his hands away to do it herself as she kissed him again. He managed to unfasten his belt and trousers and slip out of his socks by the time she finished with his shirt, even with the sweet distraction of her mouth against his. He shoved his pants and trousers down his legs, stepped out of them, and backed Irene toward the bed. She scrambled up onto the mattress, a smirk of challenge playing on her lips as she laid back amongst the pillows. Oh, he had missed that smirk and he hadn’t even realized it until now. 

“Something amusing you, Miss Adler?” Sherlock drawled as he followed her down onto the bed and into the cradle of her thighs. He braced himself on one elbow, other hand brushing down her side. Irene reached for his free hand and pushed it down to the apex of her thighs. She was impossibly hot and slick, and Sherlock groaned as he slipped his first two fingers into her, circling her clit with his thumb. 

“I’ve been lying here for the last - mmm - fifteen minutes, touching myself and thinking about you. Just like last night. And the night before,” she panted, arching up into his touch. “Please, please. I need you n-.” 

“Yes, absolutely,” Sherlock agreed, curling his fingers into her one last time before bringing his hand to his mouth and sucked his fingers clean, enjoying the way she bit her lip when he did so. He reached into the side table drawer and came up with a strip of condoms. He resolutely did not think about how they had got there, but ripped open one of the foil packets and rolled it onto his cock. 

Irene put her arms around his shoulders, pulling him against her. “Now!” she demanded, nipping at his neck. Sherlock shifted his hips slightly and entered her in a long, slow slide, stopping once he was buried to the hilt. Moaning, Irene, hooked a leg over his hips. “Tease later,” she begged, arching her hips against his. He grasped her leg and started to thrust, leaning down and capturing her mouth with his. Irene moved with him, grinding her hips up into his, her kisses rough and biting. God, he had missed her. It didn’t matter that they had only had the one night years ago, there was an undeniable rightness to their joining that he couldn’t and didn’t want to deny.   
He got to his knees and grasped her hips, pulling her onto his cock, her legs on his shoulders. Irene moaned and grasped his forearm with one hand, her other busy between their bodies, rubbing at her clit. It only took a few seconds before she climaxed, rippling around him. That was all it took to reach his own peak, throwing his head back, mouth a silent ‘o’ as he came. 

 

Much later, as Irene lay dozing against his chest, Sherlock sent a quick text to his blogger. 

I think I’ve been caught instead - SH


End file.
